


The Procession

by comatoseroses



Category: One Piece
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 21:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/944983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comatoseroses/pseuds/comatoseroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For some people it isn't just a matter of finding the right person- it's a matter of coming to terms with who they are and the fact that they've been there for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Procession

**Author's Note:**

> one of my older ones. it isn't my best work, but man, the effort i put into it back in the day. it jumps back and forth timeline-wise, which i know has caught folks off guard before, so hopefully the forewarning helps.

_Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.” -Peter Ustinov_

 

**i.** He begins it as a sketch- something light, simple, lacking texture and the quality he knows his best work has exhibited. Begins it as a series of plain gray lines, half of which will not be visible by the end. Begins it as the eraser between his teeth, the sun still yet beneath the horizon and his fingers growing stiff where they hesitate above the page.

It is an image he cannot see, an ideal he cannot capture. There is something that he wants but can't attain, though it is something he knows he can reach. Far be it for him not to try, even if he isn't sure what it is just yet.

But it's _something,_ and that's the only thing he really needs to know. After a minute more, he decides against pencil.

He reaches out, grasps a brush, makes a thick sweeping stroke of yellow- tries for the way he could last remember loving it, how he remembers loving _her_ \- but it comes out too thick, too light in shade, falls across the face in a way her hair had never allowed. And his thoughts drift briefly to cigarettes and the mouth comes out in a self-assured half-smile shaped around one, long and thin like the fingers holding it.

But no. That's not right. That isn't how he began or intended it and he refuses to believe it would have turned out the way it seemed to be heading. The page is torn out, crumpled up, thrown over his shoulder and Usopp begins again with a determined frown.

He would find _her_ in it this time, the way he always had before.

 

**ii.** Sanji likewise pushes it away through action intended for another, buries it in soft, steady breaths and the feeling of the knife hitting the cutting board. Rhythmic, monotonous, soothingly mindless and beautifully crafted- though this art, perhaps, would not be long lasting. He's often found that fact to be more satisfying than smiles and lengthy stares.

A tomato is plucked from the gathering of produce surrounding him and so meets its end. His eye falls on the shape and the color and he is vaguely reminded of her, of pained smiles, red hair, happy tears and the scent of tangerines. It reminds him in turn of how very different two people can be; forces him to think of a bright red cape poorly concealing an injured body, sobbed apologies, laughable tales and hindering pride.

They were different. They were similar. The second set of memories comes much more forcefully than the first.

But he doesn't need to think about that, really. All he needs to think about is her.

He casts about briefly for the next ingredient, tosses something down and chops it without focusing- he's done this enough, he knows it by heart, so there isn't much potential for disaster. For a moment, the only sounds are the knife and his exhales, and he watches the cigarette smoke disappear into the air. It's not something he's quite used to, cooking in a silent kitchen. He's used to half intelligible muttering, metal against metal, loud complaint when Luffy comes crashing in like a drunken elephant. But he is also used to soft laughter and the conversation of women, and all of those things are gone and too much like a certain tearing pain in his heart; too much like a certain city.

Which is why he's been spoiling them all a little, since it happened. It's also the reason, he's been telling himself, that he has to keep stopping that smile from overtaking his face when _someone_ other than Nami-san or Robin-chan walks through the door. The smile for _him_ that starts somewhere deep in Sanji's chest and rises like a relieving exhale- one that doesn't taste like smoke and very rarely inspires images of tangerines and flower petals. It comes out as cheap gunpowder and tobasco, instead, until he tells himself that it isn't the right one.

When he remembers that fact, he tries again until he thinks it feels like it used to.

Something springs up in his mind and he glances down. What he'd been chopping now lies in ruin before him and he shoves it away with a curse (salsa later, then, it was a good tomato). His hand snakes out and almost hesitates when it heads for the mushrooms.

Until he reminds himself that Nami likes mushrooms and that's all he really cares about.

 

**iii.** He found Usopp on deck at midnight, sprawled across the weathered wooden planks in unguarded comfort and with an arm out in the air, finger weaving back and forth lazily. It wasn't unlike the position he'd been in earlier, joined by Luffy and Chopper (and an unenthusiastic Zoro) as he drew imaginary constellations assigned to the adventures of the Great Captain Usopp. Wasn't unlike that position, but at the same time it was completely different.

No sharp, dramatic gestures or deafening exclamations of awe, no excited alternating tapping of his boots against the boards or snores from the shitty marimo- just Usopp, and his finger, and an air of quiet happiness that Sanji couldn't recall seeing from him before. It was something different, to be sure.

He lit a match, held it to the end of his cigarette as that finger softly swept to the left, tracing lines that only the other could see. Sanji glanced up and wondered what he was drawing, there, but couldn't see more than a giant clump of little lights, just like always.

Well, he'd never been much of one for stargazing, so it wasn't a big surprise to him. Maybe it was because of where he was standing? Usopp paused for a second, frowned slightly, seemed to reconsider a line drawn and so he pulled his finger back over the path he'd traced, careful to be as exact as possible. His face pulled into a satisfied smile as he found the direction he wanted and Sanji looked up again in spite of himself.

After a few moments of consideration, he made his way over to where the other was situated, footsteps deliberately pronounced. It wasn't exactly hard to scare Usopp as it was, he'd learned, and sneaking up on him in the middle of the night was just asking for it. Usopp glanced up at him as he approached and leaned against the mast unconcernedly, arm coming halfway down before he seemed to decide it was fine to continue.

“Hi, Sanji,” he said offhandedly. “I didn't think anyone else would be up right now.”

“Needed a smoke,” the chef offered indifferently. He allowed the following silence to stretch for as long as he deemed it necessary, until the question left him with a particularly large exhale. “So what is it this time?”

“What's what?”

Sanji gestured upwards vaguely. “The shitty constellation. Is it that goldfish again?”

Usopp hummed a little in the back of his throat. “It's a dragon, actually.”

He didn't bother hiding his snort. “Right. Of course.”

“It _is._ There's a wing right...there. And its teeth are those jagged-looking lines right over _here._ See?”

“No.”

He got an annoyed huff for all his efforts. “I guess some people just aren't born with my natural artistic talent and vision,” the sniper said sulkily. “Even _Zoro_ could see the dragon.”

Sanji's eye twitched.

“But of course, I can't blame you; it's different for everybody,” Usopp continued, voice a suiting mockery of sympathy and understanding.

He received a kick to his shoulder for the statement. “Oi! Are you saying that stupid mosshead is more _creative_ than I am?”

“I didn't say that!”

“You _implied_ it!”

“No I didn't,” he insisted, rubbing his shoulder with a scowl. “You're the one jumping to conclusions about everything.” Settling back down, he kept the annoyance clear on his features. “Probably only find stupid boring stuff anyway,” he muttered.

Sanji swiftly toed him out of the way and sat down with a snarl, looking up in serious consideration of the sky. After a few minutes, he let out a triumphant noise, grabbed Usopp's wrist, and traced a few lines of his own. “There!” He said, halfway between smug and lovesick. “I found Nami-san's beautiful face.”

Usopp rolled his eyes and started pointing out other various nakama-resembling arrangements. Sanji insisted that what he claimed to be Chopper looked far too much like a tanuki, but he couldn't be convinced to change his mind. Eventually they fell asleep and the next day went without mention of it.

 

**iv.** He'd only been half certain of what he was heading towards when he began it, but by the end it had become all too clear. Usopp stared at his latest work, just short of being completed, for a full five minutes; he found that each passing second added more fuel to the burning in his chest, felt it spread through his limbs until he was gritting his teeth against the force of it.

Why was it...why was it _so hard_ to draw her? He had thought he could still _see_ her face in his mind, could hear her voice if he tried, remember the stories he'd told her and her laugh, but none of it would come out on paper. It faded like the lines of old sketches on folded paper, less there every time he opened it up again, and he couldn't keep it from happening no matter how much he tried.

This one wasn't her either. For a moment he hesitated; looked down at the impeccably sketched pose, exactly as he'd seen it when it happened. One foot firmly on the ground, the other in the air, hands in pockets like they always were in a fight. He clenched his jaw, picked up an eraser and set to work violently.

“Hey, how come you're erasing that one?” Luffy's plaintive voice demanded from behind him. Usopp whirled around and threw the eraser at his head.

“What did I say about sneaking up on me!?”

“Not to.” The captain stuck a finger up his nostril, unaffected by the eraser (a lot of good it had done, rubber against rubber), and ignored his rage. “So why'd you erase it?” He asked again. “I was gonna ask if I could have it.”

“It wasn't the right picture,” Usopp said quietly, brushing the page clean. He might have been doing so a little too heatedly, but as long as the page didn't tear he would be fine.

“Sure it was. You were drawing Sanji, right?”

He gave strong consideration to lying and saying yes, yes he'd intended to all along but the pose wasn't quite right, or he needed a different angle- and then he frowned and huffed out an agitated breath. “I was,” he started slowly, “but I didn't want to draw him. I was trying to draw- someone else.”

“Oh. They look that much like him?” Luffy asked, interest notably piqued.

“ _Of course not!_ ” He screeched, flailing dramatically for emphasis. “He doesn't look like Kaya at all!”

“Haha, I guess not,” came the amused reply. It sobered a little after a second, though, and Usopp could read his train of thought like a book. Kaya to Kuro to the Going Merry, and the Going Merry was...yeah.

Silence fell, at that, and he didn't have the heart to break it like he usually would. He tried sketching her out again, but his hand worked against him, cast the angles all wrong, drew the hair over one eye, curled the eyebrow-

-he tore out the page and threw it violently across the room.

“Hm? What's wrong, Usopp?”

And then he wanted nothing more than to hurl something heavy at that stupid concerned face, to destroy his workshop and shout and make Luffy understand exactly what his problem was, what kept appearing in his brain and escaping his hand, different. But instead he swallowed and spoke, throat painfully tight.

“I can't draw her anymore.”

“You can only draw Sanji.”

At that, he had to look up, only to meet Luffy's patented 'the captain knows all' grin staring him down in return. With an affirmative noise, he nodded. Luffy's grin grew.

“Well, what's wrong with that?”

“ _Everything is wrong with that!_ I- as if it wasn't bad enough that I couldn't- couldn't even keep the ship she gave us-” -and at this he stopped before they went into territory that was mutually painful- “-now I can't even...” He paused, fingers clenching into fists around the edges of his sketchpad. His eyes closed so he wouldn't have to see the paper, so he wouldn't have to know what he'd end up putting on it. _Can't even keep_ _ **her**_ _._

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to her or to him and he _hated_ himself for it. And he wanted to hate Sanji for it, but no matter how hard he tried, he _couldn't_. Whatever it was certainly wasn't hate- at this he clenched his fingers more tightly because he knew, on some level, exactly what it was, even if he couldn't see it clearly- but it was all Sanji's fault anyway.

Or at least half Sanji's fault, because he should have been better than this, too. In light of the fact that it was partially his fault, too, he threw the sketchpad across the room as well.

Another moment passed and Luffy plopped down next to him without a word. At least he hadn't had to say it out loud for someone to understand.

 

**v.** On any other night, Sanji might have inquired about the tense atmosphere that seemed to hang over the dinner table like a layer of concrete. And on any other night he would have been interacting just like the rest of them, in squabbles for food and debates over various topics. However, this night was unlike other nights, as it proceeded with him pinning Usopp down with the most venomous look he could muster.

Sanji was beyond pissed. He was _livid._ Because Usopp just _walked in_ and he had to fight down that stupid fucking smile, again, and he had to remember that Robin and Nami got their own _different_ smile, and he could still feel the other one in his chest like an air bubble, just waiting.

And because Usopp walked in looking like the most miserable, pissed-off creature in the world and nobody was telling him to snap the hell out of it already. He wasn't even telling one of his stupid stories, he was just sitting there looking- looking _stupid_ and angry. Not that he really gave a damn about why; it was just distracting him from far more important matters.

Sanji's anger, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that Usopp wouldn't fucking _look_ at him, even when he tried actually saying something, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Luffy was sticking to the shitty kid like they were chained at the wrist.

So they all sat through dinner and dessert, and Sanji made sure the ladies had refills and barked at the other assholes to get their own. It was then that Usopp finally grew a pair and bothered looking at him, and he looked even angrier than he'd been before and that _stupid shitty bubble_ wouldn't just leave him the fuck alone; it kept pushing at his chest, at his throat and his face and it took everything in him just to fight it down because he wasn't supposed to have that smile in the first place.

This one felt like some kind of relief, like it was the greatest thing in the world that Usopp was mad at him for something because even angry, at least he was still-

-no. Sanji put an end to that thought on the spot.

“...hey, are you listening, Sanji-kun?”

This effectively jerked him out of wherever his brain had wandered and left him in the uncomfortable position of having to ask what Nami-san been saying. Damn it. _Damn_ it.

At attention immediately, he turned to be at her service, the smile rising in his chest making the one on his face almost painful. She smiled back, a little nervously. “Are you feeling well?”

He felt his smile become just a little bit more sincere and he nodded, not sure if his voice could be trusted.

Because even though she was crafty, even though she loved money a little too much, she was still sweet and beautiful and kindhearted and _deserving._ And he couldn't even see past one shitty guy for her, or for Robin, and he had no idea how it had happened. His eyes found Chopper pulling on Luffy's face (while Franky and Zoro watched) in hopes of cheering Usopp up, and it seemed to be working a little bit at a time, because there was a smile, albeit somewhat halfhearted.

He felt it pushing on his chest again, that smile and that feeling, and he stood up and away from the table in the resultant rage because it wasn't supposed to be there, it didn't belong there, it didn't belong to _him_ and it wasn't fair that it was present anyway. Everybody stopped and looked at him, even Usopp who suddenly didn't look so much angry as worried, and that just made it worse.

Sanji narrowed his visible eye in seething fury, feeling just short of exploding from all the conflict he'd never wanted to have, and came to the nearest logical conclusion.

“ _This,_ ” he spat, leaning over and grabbing a fistful of shirt collar in order to express the severity of the situation, “is all your fault. You and your shitty- just you and everything!”

He received a long few moments of utter silence, in which Zoro and Franky stood halfway up, Luffy tilted his head and Robin, Nami and Chopper gasped a little in surprise. His eyes squeezed shut and for a moment his hold on the fabric tightened as he let the problem rise. “What the _fuck_ do you think you're playing at, huh? Why couldn't you be just as stupid and annoying as those other guys?”

Usopp managed to muster up a baffled “Huh?” before Sanji's hand relinquished its grip and the cook stormed away.

 

**vi.** He was debating the merits of ever actually returning to Alabasta in the future, Baroque Works or no. Sure, they'd all been part of changing the future of an entire country and yeah, he was glad that they could help Vivi out in the end. All in all, Usopp was about eighty percent sure that he would do it all again in a heartbeat if necessary.

The other twenty percent must have been taken out by the days spent trudging through the seemingly endless desert. Or maybe the flaming okama who beat him to a pulp and stole his goggles. Oh, or maybe the _four-ton bat_ to the face had something to do with it. Such a list could go on and on, really, but he decided not to take it too far. Because eighty percent was still pretty good, in his opinion, and he didn't want to keep lowering his chances of going again.

Besides, the physical damage wasn't permanent and Sanji had given him back his goggles. A little worse for wear, but nothing some elbow grease (maybe some glue, or possibly a rubber band) wouldn't fix. Which was what had led him to the soothingly familiar section of the kitchen he'd claimed for his own, tools in hand- such as they were. It was as he set about repairing his ridiculously expensive accessory that Sanji (who had to have been practicing sneaking up on him, there was no other way) spoke up from where he faced the stove.

“So you can fix it?”

Once certain he wasn't going to go into cardiac arrest, Usopp graced him with an answer. “Yeah. No problem.”

He wasn't facing him, but he was pretty sure he could hear the smile in Sanji's voice. “Good. Didn't want to go to all that effort for nothing.”

“I would have kept them anyway- even just for scrap.” Usopp did a little further tinkering and couldn't hold back a tut of disapproval. “Ah, I'll have to get a new lens for this one now,” he muttered, sticking his tongue out in consideration.

His face met swiftly with the side of Sanji's foot. “Be a little more grateful, punk! I could have just let that piece of crap become that okama's latest fashion accessory!” He fumed, aura projecting what he deemed righteous anger.

“Sorry, sorry; thank you, Sanji-kun, I'm grateful...”

“Tch. You better be.”

“My wounds- I think I'm dying...you've killed me...”

“You bleed too much. Get your shitty body out of my kitchen.”

He didn't leave, but he didn't get kicked again for it. That seemed like a step in the right direction.

 

**vii.** From the very beginning, Usopp had a feeling in his gut that he and Sanji just weren't going to be friends. He couldn't explain exactly where it came from or what it meant or how it really came to him, but it was there. And it told him that their potential chef gave off a different vibe, and Usopp had long trained himself not to trust anybody with a strange vibe. He told himself that Sanji wasn't the kind of guy he wanted to be friends _with,_ in all honesty. Skirt-chasing, violent, swore like a- like a _sailor_ , which Usopp couldn't really hold a grudge for and actually kind of respected, since he sort of was one. Working on a floating, fighting restaurant and all.

But the guy could at least have tried not being so contradictory about all of it.

Swirling pink hearts one second, damaging vital organs in the next. He wasn't even going to venture into the mushroom subject. Point was, he wouldn't have let this guy within ten feet of Kaya- because she was a girl, and she was beautiful, and she was sweet, and he was exactly the kind of guy that could sniff those things out.

The fact that he was more attractive only barely flitted across Usopp's mind, was brushed away like a bothersome fly because he knew Kaya wasn't the type of girl who would fall for just a pretty face. But she would trust one like she trusted anyone else, and Sanji was only after one thing. Also supposedly ignored was the fact that if it had been this guy back in Syrup Village, trying to protect her- well, it wouldn't have been just trying. He could do it no problem, because he was _strong._

But Usopp could and would push such misgivings aside because Luffy clearly wasn't leaving that restaurant without Sanji. And he was pretty good at finding decent people when you thought there were none around. Sometimes they came across as bad; like Nami, who was really only doing what she was doing because she didn't have a better option. And Zoro, who was supposed to be one of the most frightening men in the East Blue but was just a man with a goal who drank a lot- and had carried Usopp around like he weighed nothing, so that he could save a girl he barely even knew, because he was actually nice. Oh, and of course it would be a cold day in hell when the many attributes of the Great (future) Captain Usopp went forgotten. Luffy was a good guy himself, too.

Even if Usopp didn't necessarily trust that vibe, he could still give it a chance, because he was sure that Kaya or his mother would have told him to do it. And he respected their opinions, imaginary or not, so he would listen.

So maybe if Sanji did a little less mooning after women, had some semblance of respect for the Going Merry and didn't force him to eat mushrooms (not that Usopp would be any less vigilant just because he thought it was safe), and if Usopp could persuade himself not to swear eternal vengeance over that kick to the face, _maybe_ they could get along.

Hey, they could even become friends in the future. Usopp didn't have too many of those just yet.

 

**viii.** Sanji's years on the Baratie had made him into many things: a first-rate chef, a ladie's man, a grudgingly experienced waiter, a smoker, a quick hand at cleaning up the effects of shitheads with seasickness and of course, a capable and deadly fighter. And all of these were things that he had sometimes hated and could never imagine living without. Just like the old man, really.

His years on the Baratie had also served to shape him into an assessor. A quick one, at that. The kid in the straw hat was a moron, possessing all the grace, intelligence and dignity of...hm, he'd go with a potato. He'd probably cause more damage working for Zeff than he had when he busted up the damn restaurant. At the same time, there was really no mistaking the way he held himself, the confidence he walked with- incompetent, but he had some kind of secret weapon stashed away, in there.

Had to be a pirate captain for something, Sanji supposed.

Maybe it was the green-haired moron of a friend that he towed along. Because that guy didn't bother hiding the fact that he was dangerous and damn well knew it, he just let it flood out all over the place like he was the fucking boss. Sanji really wanted to _fight_ that guy. He wanted to knock him down a few pegs and teach him some respect, and he really wanted to think of a few sharp insults for the...the mosshead. Damn. Hopefully he would remember that one later.

But what man in his right mind would allow such a display in front of a lady? Ah, when it came to Nami-san (the only name he'd bothered learning because, well, she was a she), words failed him. She was...sharp. Dangerous. Sexy. He saw those things frequently, but very rarely were they so well combined in their packaging. She was a lot like he pictured the perfect woman, because while he loved charming them all, adored innocent blushes and timid smiles, it was a real woman who held herself with as much confidence as a man and made you believe that she could back it up.

The long-nose...well, he wasn't dangerous at all. Sanji actually wondered if he wasn't just tagging along for a quick drop at some island or another: because he was on the fucking Baratie with a _slingshot_ in his pocket. Like that was going to do him any good if he got into a fight with another customer or a chef. He was stubborn, too, which would do just as much good as that slingshot was going to. Maybe it was a little respectable, but that kind of got lost once you'd seen him using potato-head's swordsman as a shield. Not to mention going around insulting a man's dish because of some stupid mushroom that poisoned him when he was a kid.

Idiot. As if Sanji would ever, in his entire life, use a mushroom that was less than pristine.

Long-nose didn't have a deep air or a hidden sharpness. Had to be new to the pirate life, if he even _was_ one, and he wouldn't make it long out in the real world. Against his better judgment, he actually felt kind of sorry for the guy. Maybe he ought to have gotten him roped into busboy duty alongside straw-hat, just to toughen him up a bit. But then Sanji remembered a perfectly good piece of food going to waste and figured that he'd call it quits way before he got to the Grand Line.

After the ordeal with the shitty fishmen, he guessed he kind of saw the potential in Usopp. Even though he'd mostly just yelled from the sidelines and screamed and run, he'd kept his opponent away from Nami-san's friends; and something in Sanji's head told him that if things had gotten really knee-deep in shit, he would have done whatever he could to help.

Maybe if he manned up a little (or a lot), worked on getting a real weapon, shut his mouth or told the damn truth once in a while and learned to eat whatever Sanji put on his fucking plate with gratitude- maybe things could be civil between the two of them.

Sanji decided he wouldn't hold his breath over it. Had to be something else that Luffy saw in him, anyway. So maybe that would be good enough until he found something likeable in the scrawny little bastard.

 

**ix.** The entire crew emerged from Skypeia worse for wear, as could perhaps have been expected when dealing with an enemy who controlled the very element of lightning. But their theory seemed to be, as ever, that nothing got rid of aches and pains quite like a massive party.

And so Usopp found himself seated among the last awakes, an empty mug in his hand and something of a content smile on his face as he figured that, overall, he'd had worse days than this. Seated next to him was Sanji, far worse for wear than Usopp personally but looking no less cool for it. Figured. He'd settled himself in for the fact that they probably wouldn't be saying anything when the chef decided that he had something to say regardless.

“You did good today,” came the quiet statement, accompanied by a wistful sort of smile. “Saving Nami-san, I mean.”

Usopp scratched the back of his neck. “I probably could have done better- I mean, I just sort of took the waver and threw them overboard-”

“So you could come back for me.”

“Uh...yeah.”

“Thanks, then.”

“Y-you're welcome, I guess. Heh, I had to get at least one rescue done right, since Nami ended up going back up with Luffy anyway-”

There was a little huff of air, not unlike a sigh. Went up for Luffy- faced death for Luffy. Somehow that made a lot of sense. “She did, didn't she?” Sanji turned to him with a little grin. “And you went back up for me.”

“R-right.”

“I still say we get credit for a successful rescue.”

His companion simply grinned back, agreeing in silence. Another few moments passed, then:

“Hope you're there to go back up for me next time, too.”

Usopp was going to discount the warmth in his face as the aftereffects of some ridiculously good alcohol later on.

 

**x.** Zoro wouldn't think of describing whatever the hell Sanji and Usopp were up to as 'dancing around each other.' To him it looked more like running hell-bent in the opposite direction only to end up exactly where they'd started. And, well, he was the kind of guy that knew that feeling. It was annoying. He looked up at the late-morning sky with a frown. The shit-cook still hadn't gotten out of bed and Usopp had locked himself in his factory.

Which left the rest of them hungry, confused and bored. This entire _thing_ was starting to get annoying.

He hadn't expected this kind of thing to come up- well, maybe he had, but not between _those_ two. What with Sanji panting after anything even slightly feminine and Usopp...being Usopp. Not exactly a shining example of womanhood. Didn't he have a thing for that girl in his village anyway? It hadn't been noticeable at all until Sanji's little hissy fit (which he supposed was better than a fight)- at least, not noticeable to anyone but Luffy. The smug little bastard who stood up after dinner and wondered how long it would be until they just got it over with.

Tact: maybe not his strong suit.

But Luffy had weird captain-instincts that let him sniff out that kind of thing. He was probably the best one to try to fix this, but of course, without breakfast he was flopped down on the deck 'starving.' Go figure. Rather than attempt to drag his sorry ass into the galley and get him to pay attention long enough for a meeting, Zoro just tugged Nami, Franky and Robin along while Chopper did the appropriate panicking outside.

Once they were all seated at the table, he got straight to the point. “Dartboard-brow is being a whiny bitch and Usopp's turning into a shut-in. How about we fix it before we die of old age?”

“Hm, that would be preferable,” Robin agreed, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “Maybe if we take them aside to talk...?”

Zoro nodded. “Yeah. You two,” he said firmly, jabbing a finger in the direction of the women, “can handle the cook. Franky and I can tell Usopp to man up and stop being such a baby.”

Nami's eye twitched a little. “Maybe it would be better for Luffy to talk to Usopp,” she muttered, looking to the side. After a milliseconds' consideration, she felt immense pity for the sniper- if Luffy was his best option for a deep conversation, he wouldn't be going anywhere.

Her suggestion was shrugged off. “He'll probably be busy trying to eat Chopper by then.”

“ _And you're not going to stop him?!_ ” She cried, throwing a nearby fork. He dodged it and made to stand with a growl.

“It might not be such a super idea to have the ladies talking to Eyebrows, bro,” Franky inserted seriously, hoping to prevent the situation from escalating.

It worked and Zoro was distracted. “Why not? He likes them, right?”

Nami pinched the bridge of her nose. “How a moron like you ever managed to figure out what was going on is beyond me. Yes, he likes us. And that's why we shouldn't talk to him. It would just make him feel worse.”

“And, of course, it's supposed to be forbidden for a woman to enter the men's quarters,” came the amused addition of Robin.

“Ah, I don't really know Eyebrows very well, so I wouldn't know what to tell him...” Franky muttered, scratching the back of his head.

“I'm not talking to that shithead about this kind of thing,” Zoro said fiercely, crossing his arms.

And yet he found himself stomping into their cabin ten minutes later to do just that, while Franky got the easy job of getting Usopp over himself. He sighed in frustration; someday Nami wouldn't be able to hold that debt over his head. Someday.

His eyes immediately picked up Sanji as the miserable lump of blanket sprawled in his cot. Exactly where he'd been earlier and exactly where he probably planned on staying until he died. Che. Emo bastard. Zoro decided that the casual classic approach would be best suited to such a situation.

“Oi, fucktard,” he began, “you plan on getting out of bed sometime today? Luffy's probably going to eat the ship when he's done with Chopper.”

“Let him,” Sanji moaned from beneath his covers. “He can eat the whole fucking ship and we can all drown; I don't give a shit.”

Well, that worked wonders. Zoro's face stretched in an awkward scowl as he considered his next course of action. The more he tried to strategize, the more pissed off he got about everything. No way he was talking about the positives of the situation. Or the negatives. Or the situation itself- then again, that was kind of the point of coming in the first place. He sighed again, feeling an oncoming headache, and then plopped down on the floor with a huff.

Oh, fuck it.

“So I thought you were into women.”

Sanji made some kind of strange snarling sound. “I _am,_ asshole. Don't go implying otherwise.”

“So is there something Usopp's not telling the rest of us?”

The chef sat up with another snarl, throwing a pillow in his general direction. “And who said I liked that- that stupid shitty long-nose anyway?”

“Come on, dumbass, even _Luffy_ knows what's going on.”

“He's pulled out half his brain by picking his nose. Luffy doesn't know shit.”

“Oh, and I guess you're gonna pretend you didn't say anything at dinner last night while you're at it.”

“Fuck off.”

“I'm not _allowed_ , because your sorry ass is in here bitching about something as stupid as this Usopp thing instead of keeping Luffy from eating our _doctor_! So how about you get the fuck out of bed and get over yourself and accept what you've got coming!”

Rather than being angered into action, Sanji ignored the challenge and sank back into bed with a pitiful wail.

“ _What is it_ _ **now**_ _?!”_

“As if it wasn't bad enough that it's not a woman! But did it have to be _him?_ The guy that can't string two sentences together without making up a ton of bullshit?”

Zoro snorted. “You should be used to that by now.”

“WHAT KIND OF GENTLEMAN CAN'T FALL IN LOVE WITH A WOMAN? ONE WITH BREASTS? OR EVEN JUST A LESS ATTRACTIVE ONE?”

The swordsman slapped himself on the forehead. _I am_ _ **not**_ _actually listening to this._

“Nami-swan...Robin-chan...forgive me-!”

He was. He really, really was.

“There's no point in living on this earth any longer...”

“That's it! I don't _care_ if she triples my interest, I'm not listening to another second of this bullshit!” Zoro roared, surging to his feet and delivering a harsh kick to the bed. “It's Usopp! And it's not like he did anything wrong! Doesn't matter if you don't want him and oozing around like a jackass isn't going to change it! So get over it and be a man!”

He stormed the rest of the way out of the room, honestly not giving a shit about whether Sanji had a response or not.

 

**xi.** “Hey, Nose-bro! Open up, will ya?”

Silence. Franky frowned and knocked again, harder.

“Seriously! I'm supposed to be having a man-to-man chat with you about your unexpected feelings!”

Franky was not a man generally known for his perceptiveness. He was also not a man known for patience, sensitivity or delicacy. Also on the list of qualities he seemed lacking in were 'subtlety' and 'a quiet voice.' Usopp, needless to say, had become painfully aware of this over the course of the past several minutes. Therefore, he was also completely miserable- because if he'd been able to hope that at least one member of the crew could be oblivious of this entire mess, that hope was now shot through.

“Come on! Marimo-bro is talking to Eyebrows and I'm supposed to be talking to you!”

Usopp remained firm in his faith that Franky wouldn't dare break the door he'd made and so chose to go back to angsting.

He held his goggles carefully, felt the solid weight that had been friendship and reassurance at some point, and wondered when exactly it had become the weight of something else entirely. Something he was familiar with having, so he hadn't even noticed it until it was too late. He didn't deserve it, just like he hadn't deserved it for Kaya.

The goggles were heavy in his hands. It was added to the weight of her face somewhere in his chest.

He'd have to make room for one and lessen the other, somehow.

And he knew exactly what he was going to end up doing. And it _hurt_.

 

**xii.** Sanji had grown used to leaving a place in great disarray, hounded by marines and fighting for his life. It was part of life as one of Luffy's nakama, one that he accepted with all the dignity he'd managed to salvage throughout their time together. Water 7 was no different than any other city, country or island that they'd departed from.

Except that they were leaving the place in great disarray, hounded by marines, fighting for their lives and Usopp wasn't _there_ for it. Made it a lot quieter, actually, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing. It was as they finally officially departed, anchor up, deflecting cannonballs, that it really sank in.

Usopp hadn't come back. He'd been practicing for it, Sanji had seen him doing it, he'd obviously wanted to, but he wasn't running around on deck shrieking or-or running around on deck, shrieking, or maybe, on a rare note of bravado, asking where the cannons were on the new ship.

Wasn't there. Didn't show up. Hadn't come back.

_He...but what...just not there._

Something in Sanji's brain seemed to cease functioning and stayed that way, even as he fought, even as the city got farther and farther away from them. They'd gone too far for a last-minute return, he was sure, because even if Usopp could swim he was _hurt,_ so he wouldn't make it that far- at least, not quickly enough to count.

So he'd chosen to stay away? The chef took a moment to glance back to the shore. It wasn't- sure, he understood the guy was scared to face them, or at least to face Luffy and Zoro (hell, maybe even Chopper, after he'd made the guy cry like that), but Usopp wasn't _that_ much of a coward. He always came through when they needed him, he'd gone with them to save Robin, to Enies Lobby which had been practically hell on earth, almost died saving her _life_ -

Saved Luffy's life. Made him keep fighting. Had been right about the Going Merry after all. If he hadn't been _there,_ Luffy and Robin, hell, all of them wouldn't be _here._ It was as simple as that. He was supposed to be there, because they needed him. And Usopp always came through when they _needed_ him.

But he hadn't even come to them to say goodbye. It made something in Sanji's chest pinch painfully, not quite physical but still there enough to register, like a question he'd asked was being answered and Usopp was saying no. Was it that surprising, really?

He'd told him not to leave. Usopp left anyway. And it had felt almost exactly the same.

Almost, because this was worse, because there was no time left to convince him to come back or apologize, or to give him an apology. No time. Too late. Water 7 was a city comprised of mistakes made by Sanji, who just kept showing up too late.

Then, from the beach, a voice- just a voice, accompanied in his mind by stained bandages and he was so _fucking relieved_ to hear it and he was going to kick Usopp's ass once he got better-

Sanji nearly choked on something indescribable rising in his chest, smiled and cheered and thanked the powers that be that Luffy could stretch like that, then pushed it back down and pretended his eyes had been dry all along.

Something in the back of his head was screaming a resounding ' _yes_ ' the entire time, to that question he hadn't known was asked.

And it felt like something changed, then.

 

**xiii.** Given the marimo's very dramatic outburst and even more dramatic exit, Sanji could no longer find satisfaction in the act of wallowing. Because every time he started letting himself slip into the soothing familiarity of self-pity and hatred for fate, he was rudely reminded by a voice in his head of how pathetic it was. And of course he, as both a chef and a man experienced in hunger, couldn't just leave his nakama unfed for a day or two or twenty while he drowned in sorrow.

Well, maybe Zoro, if only because he knew the bastard would survive it.

Even this notion was withdrawn almost immediately. If he hadn't tried his hand at talking, the chef would still be attempting to smother himself with a pillow, anyway. If he hadn't challenged him to be a man about this, he wouldn't be doing it, and where would that leave everyone?

And so Sanji sat in silence- smoked a cigarette as far as he could manage to burn it, put it out, started on another- and forcibly directed his thoughts to what he had been avoiding thinking about with such a passion recently. Not so much about the fact that what he had been calling 'the something' was there, but about why it was there, and how it had happened, and why it had only been Usopp when they'd met any number of people along the way. People he'd liked, people he'd been _attracted_ to- women, namely. Nami, more specifically, because she'd been special among all of them, and had his more romantic feelings towards her faded without his noticing?

He didn't think so. But did the fact that he'd thought of them as being _towards_ her rather than for her mean anything? Sanji couldn't say that he didn't feel for Usopp. He had the feeling that if he tried to say towards rather than for, it wouldn't come out properly. But where on earth was the thing that made them different?

His thinking continued on a number of varying levels, always comparing. She'd cried when Luffy saved her from her past- _he_ had cried when he'd been forced to let go of his. The way she spoke, sharp and clear, demanding obedience, contrasted sharply when taken in with Usopp's stuttering nervous countenance. Blood running down her shoulder, the knife going in until Luffy finally stopped her. Nobody stopped _him_ , when the pain and shame drove him to fight one of his closest friends.

And he'd gone back to save him, on Skypeia, had done something even though it was dangerous, had been _brave._ It was such a difference to see, the way he could change when he was needed. Nami-san was nearly always brave. She went back up against Eneru with hardly a second thought. Maybe because she was the only other person allowed to hold the hat.

She'd had a past that was better off left behind her, and she'd let it go with relief. Whenever she pulled through something and was stronger for it, he thought he loved her just that much more, even if it wasn't a surprise.

Nami didn't really need anyone. She had Luffy to protect her.

Usopp wasn't Nami. He'd fought tooth and nail for the only thing left to connect him to his home and he'd lost it anyway. And for a while he'd lost everything else, too. Sanji sometimes wondered if the Going Merry, nakama or not, loved by them all, had been Usopp's personal Baratie. Wanted to stay with it, would do anything to keep it whole, but the one thing that was probably best was for him to leave it behind.

That face still lingered in his mind's eye, bruised and bleeding and tear-stained, and Luffy's face when he tried telling him that he could just _leave_ \- just like that. Like they hadn't been through anything. And he was the only one that bothered trying to smack a little sense into him for it.

Would've done it again in a heartbeat, too.

It came to Sanji as he lit the match for his fourth cigarette, somehow, and the epiphany had him holding it there until the wood burned down to his fingertips. Usopp _wasn't_ Nami. Comparing them hadn't gotten him anywhere and it never would, and if he kept trying he'd end up spending the rest of his life sitting on his bunk thinking instead of acting. The 'something' gained a definition and he didn't push it away but let it settle where it was. He let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, a long weary sigh that was something like relief.

So, he was in love with Usopp. He was pretty sure he could handle that.

 

**xiv.** It was at some point in the early morning hours- long after Franky had stopped knocking, Luffy and Chopper had started and stopped, Nami had threatened, Robin had attempted to bribe and Zoro had grumbled through the door in a way that only he could manage to make seem kind- when Usopp rubbed his eyes and straightened his spine with some kind of quiet satisfaction. He had, over the course of the day, done nothing.

Hadn't drawn, hadn't painted, hadn't worked on any kind of project- however many hours he'd spent in his workshop were ones spent _thinking._ Usopp wasn't new to things requiring such difficult thought, thankfully, otherwise he thought he might have gone insane. He fidgeted where he sat for a moment, crossed his legs and folded his arms, and then stared at the wall before him with an intensity that was becoming less and less unusual. One to ten and back down, and he counted like that in the back of his mind just to be able to process what to say.

Background noise, because he couldn't think in the silence.

His arm stretched out, fingers grasping a random tool that he could fiddle with; it was more instinct than anything, and he'd always liked having something to do with his hands. He wondered what his mother would be thinking right now, if she'd been around for this. Probably just tell him to do what he thought was best. That seemed like her, or what he remembered of her- the woman who bore a pirate's son even though she knew the sea would always be that man's only real love.

He wasn't stupid- he knew what this was all about, and he knew what it was called. It had come to him suddenly at some point in the late afternoon, the word, and he'd pondered it but chosen not to swat it away or to let it grow. What it was...well, that was what it was.

It was all a matter of not being afraid of what he had to do about it. Usopp made no comparisons, really, because comparing two people who were so obviously different just wasn't fair. Rather, he held them both up in his mind and watched and waited, and eventually the answer had come.

None of those things had been the painful part, but the answer itself had been. Because something in his chest splintered like strained wood and crashed and burned when it came. It gave him joy, it caused him pain, and that was really just the way that things went for him.

He pondered the wrench in his hands for a moment longer before facing the wall again with a sincere smile. The portrait in his mind didn't disappear but it faded a little, curled up at the edges like it was just short of burning away. It was always burning, wasn't it, that signified letting go of something.

His fingers curled in on themselves and he took in a breath like he hadn't had fresh air in years.

“I'm sorry, Kaya,” he said, smile still firmly in place. “But I think that you would understand, anyway.”

So he loved Sanji. Admitting it, even to himself, made the pain lessen.

 

**xv.** As is often the case with a sizable group of people living together, there are different recollections of the same event to be found among them. As it was, nobody knew exactly when Sanji and Usopp had become...well, 'Sanji and Usopp'- but at the same time they could probably all tell a person when they _thought_ it happened.

It happened when Sanji went out of his way and considered what Usopp would think of a certain subject. Or maybe it happened when Usopp saved Sanji's life when the option to run had not only been available but encouraged. When, on occasion, mushrooms were left deliberately untouched on the kitchen counter; and when they weren't it happened again when the mushrooms were eaten despite all complaints.

Someone would say it happened after Luffy and Usopp's duel, Sanji telling them to understand what the loser must have been feeling, fingers clenched tight like it was the only thing that kept him from running out there, too. Whenever Usopp smacked Sanji on the back of the head in hopes of bringing him to his senses. 

There were limitless daily moments and less frequent but more dramatic ones, and though for the life of them no one had seen a hint of open tenderness during the former, there was always a hint of it somewhere beneath the surface. The rest of the crew sufficed it to say that it wasn't something that had been built up to but was simply something that had always _been._

Both of them seemed happier that way, anyways.


End file.
